


the kids are alright

by Jelly



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24894172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/pseuds/Jelly
Summary: It wouldn’t be so bad, she supposes, if she didn’t have to deal with all of it except somewhere along the line, high cleric had become synonymous with babysitter and—Opeli takes a breath. It’s fine, she tells herself. It’s fine. She’s fine. They’re fine. They’re kids, and after what they’ve been through, they deserve some time to act their age. She’s not so out of touch that she doesn’t remember what it was like to be young. She can let them have this.(But gods, what she wouldn’t give for that cup of Hot Brown Morning Potion).
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 257





	the kids are alright

the kids are alright

_iv_

Once upon a time, when things were simpler and straightforward, and there was a war to be won instead of peace to be brokered, Claudia invented a drink. Opeli thinks it was called Hot Brown Morning Potion or something? Gods know it needed a better name, but anyway— she’d tried it a handful of times, and she doesn’t know what was in it, but it was sweet and bitter and it ( _somehow_ ) put an energy into her bones that she didn’t know she had. It made the coldest mornings warmer, and the dullest meetings easier to bear— at times, it made even Lord Viren seem tolerable— and while she’s relatively certain there was dark magic involved in its recipe, Opeli won’t deny that it was effective, and that she wouldn’t kill for a cup right now.

She’s fighting off a headache this morning. Admittedly, this has kind of become an ongoing problem— things have changed since the Battle of the Storm Spire, and suddenly being the high cleric of Katolis is a lot harder than she remembers. Back in the day, it was just attending meetings and conducting ceremonies but now…

Well. Ezran is king, young though he may be, and Prince Callum has a girlfriend (an _elven_ girlfriend, no less), and Soren is… _Soren_ , and it wouldn’t be _so_ bad, she supposes, if she didn’t have to _deal_ with all of it except somewhere along the line, _high cleric_ had become synonymous with _babysitter_ and— 

Opeli takes a breath. It’s the kind she reserves for when she’s wishing for patience in the face of some stuffy dignitary— a short inhale through her nose and a long exhale through her mouth— but this morning, she’s just wishing for peace. It’s been a couple of months since they all returned from Xadia and it’s _quiet_ for once. Opeli doesn’t think she’s had a morning like this in weeks, but she’s having a hard time enjoying it because it just feels like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any minute now, she expects Ezran to find her with another stray under his arm, or to walk in on Callum and the elf— Rayla, she corrects herself— being less than appropriate with their affection, or Soren with some sort of new injury he claims is _‘fine’_ that's obviously _not._

She breathes again.

It’s fine, she tells herself. It’s fine. She’s fine. _They’re_ fine. They’re _kids_ , and after what they’ve been through, they deserve some time to act their age. She’s not so out of touch that she doesn’t remember what it was like to be young. She can let them have this.

(But _gods_ , what she _wouldn’t_ give for that cup of Hot Brown Morning Potion).

  
  


_i_

There have been a flurry of meetings since the end of the war, mostly from this side of the border. The kingdoms of Del Bar, Evenere, and Neolandia are in shambles: their monarchs are dead, their standing armies are gone, and between establishing new lines of succession and this tentative newfound peace, their councils are tense. 

Opeli’s no stranger to arguing dignitaries. This has been the way of things for decades. Centuries, probably. She’s done her share of yelling for sure— but even her patience is starting to wear thin.

Ezran, to his credit, has (so far) taken it all in stride. She’s impressed, honestly: older and more mature kings might have cracked it by now, but Ezran keeps his voice level and argues back with all the grace of a king much wiser than he should have any right to be. Twice, he’s used the noise of the row to make jokes about it to Corvus (Opeli can’t even be mad at him for it— they were _funny_ jokes), but beyond that, he’s been professional and patient and the epitome of regality.

Then they break for lunch.

Ezran climbs out of his throne looking worn, but otherwise bright, and he bids Corvus and Opeli, “See you later,” before he heads into the hall in search of Barius and a tray of jelly tarts.

“Would you like one of us to come with you?” Opeli asks him. She has to bite her tongue to leave the _Your Majesty_ unspoken— he’s already had words to them both about how he’d rather his friends (his _friends!_ ) just call him by his name.

“It’s only the kitchens,” says Ezran. “Besides, I’ve got Bait. It’ll be fine.” He waves them off then, determined to enjoy his break (without having to share his tarts, probably) Opeli nods and lets him go. 

She uses the hour to check in on the other clerics. She’s been neglecting her ceremonial duties a little in favour of guiding Ezran and helping him navigate the choppy waters of court life, but things seem to be getting on fine without her and they’ve picked up the slack with no complaints. It’s a nice sort of reprieve from the complexities of politics and Opeli returns to the throne room when the hour is up with her head clear and her patience refreshed.

The visiting dignitaries sulk back in, fingers twitching at their sides like they’re eager to throw hands. Corvus takes up his post on the left side of the throne. 

They wait five minutes.

Then ten.

Then twenty.

Ezran doesn’t come back.

  
  


“One of us should have gone with him,” snarls Opeli, throwing open the throne room doors. The representatives from the other kingdoms are unimpressed, naturally, and she imagines they’ll be grumbling about this under their breaths for some time. 

“He said no,” says Corvus, hurrying into step with her looking sheepish. “We couldn’t have refused him.”

Opeli scowls at him. “We should have anyway. This isn’t acceptable behaviour for a king.” It comes out harsher than she means it to, but it’s true. Kings don’t just _disappear_ , and things don’t bode well for the future when they _do_.

They catch each other’s eye, the obvious uncertainty hanging between them like a knife in the air.

The truth is that this _isn’t_ the first time Ezran has disappeared on them. They know— they _know_ — he’s probably safe. No one knows the ins and outs of this castle like he does, and it’s unlikely that he might have been attacked without anyone noticing and raising an alarm. They _know_ this, but it weighs heavily on Opeli’s mind anyway because the last time assassins broke in, they were successful, and they’re _housing_ one— 

She cuts herself off before she can finish the thought. It’s only been about a week but Rayla’s been here long enough now that it’s pretty clear to _everyone_ that she’s _not_ like that _at all_ . She cares for Ezran like the older sister he never had. In time, she legally might be, and the boys are demonstrably protective of her from _anyone_ who might have their prejudices against her. She deserves better than Opeli's biases.

“He’s not _just_ a king,” says Corvus. There’s the slightest undertone of panic in his voice, but he gives her a stern _look_ that even she can’t dispute. “He’s a child.”

Opeli presses her lips into a thin line. It’s easy to forget sometimes. Ezran is a good king and he’s doing all he can— but he’s also only ten years old. It’s not fair to hold him to the same standards as an adult. Not when he’s already shown more grace and courage than men twice his age. She huffs and says nothing more.

  
  


They find him in a nook in the library, curled around a half finished tray of jelly tarts with a heavy tome on economics propped up against Bait. There’s a bit of jam on his nose, and what looks like ink on his fingers, and Bait glares at them from behind the book— _wake him, I dare you_ — as Opeli feels her frustration fall away in a rush.

He’s a good kid. A good king, too, but he’s a kid first, and Opeli can’t find it in herself to be mad because he _is_ trying, and far harder than he should have to. 

She catches Corvus’ eye and huffs. “If you’re willing to watch over him, I can take care of everything else,” she mutters, shrugging off her cloak. Ezran’s so small that it dwarfs him, and despite herself, Opeli smiles.

He's a growing boy. The meeting can wait.

  
  


_ii_

Opeli’s always had her own biases about the war and about the Xadian side of the border, and up until relatively recently, there’d been no reason to believe those biases were unfounded. At the end of the day, the world she’d grown up in was considerably _less_ at peace than this one, and while she's definitely adjusting, she hadn't quite expected that she'd have to adjust _this fast_.

Rayla is a nice enough girl. An elven assassin, yes (Opeli has to regularly force herself to forget who her targets had been), but a girl first, and a sweet one with a sound respect for duty and honour, at that. The way Ezran tells it, she'd abandoned her mission the moment she realised there was an opportunity for peace; had turned against her own team to keep the Dragon Prince (and the boys) safe; had been willing to lose her left hand in the slowest, most painful way imaginable if it meant keeping Ezran alive— she's been through a lot, and she'd been banished from her own village on top of it all, so when Callum and Ezran offered her a home in Katolis, well...

Who was Opeli to refuse?

So home with them she went. The boys arranged a room for her on the same floor as Callum and Ezran's old joint bedroom— “It's probably not a great idea to be too far away,” Callum had said, and Opeli had agreed (for more reasons than one). They had strict words with _everyone_ about how she was to be treated as their guest and nothing less, Callum lent her a pair of pyjamas and said something about chatting to the resident seamstress, she settled in, and that was that.

It's still strange to see an elf in the castle, and stranger still to see one with her fingers laced affectionately with their now-crown prince. Callum's grown a lot since he and Ezran disappeared on their adventure. He's far more confident than he was, and he’s confident enough now to be fiercely protective of Rayla from anyone who might let their prejudices get the better of them. 

It's sweet, thinks Opeli. She might still be unsure of the girl, but the boys trust her and care for her deeply, and that must stand for something, so Opeli does her best to do the same.

It's not as hard as she thought it would be. Rayla is quick witted and sharp as a tack; she's got a sense of humour that Opeli secretly enjoys, a sense of duty that she more than understands, and most of all, she very clearly loves Ezran like a brother, and Callum with all of her heart.

That's enough for Opeli.

She just wishes she and Callum were a little more… _discreet_.

  
  


The first time she has to say something about it, they're flirting over dinner. The kids tend to have meals together when they can and Opeli doesn't often join them because it feels too much like intruding— they are the closest thing Katolis has to a royal family, after all— but Ezran asks ( _specifically requests)_ that she and Corvus eat with them some days and it’s easy enough to humour him. 

(Opeli doesn’t get the chance to see her own family very much anyway and, well, this is nice).

What’s _less_ nice is having to watch Callum and Rayla flirt like there’s no one else in the room. Ezran promises her that it’s not so bad most days, but tonight they’re sitting so close to each other that their elbows bump whenever they reach for something. They tease and touch and kiss each other at every opportunity, and it’s hard to watch, but it’s bearable— at least until Rayla swipes at one of Callum’s potatoes and pops it cheekily into her mouth.

“You know you have your own potatoes,” says Callum, his tone dry but fond.

Rayla smirks at him. “Yours taste better.”

“They’re exactly the same!”

“No they’re not. Want me to prove it?” Her smirk morphs into something coy, and they’re leaning in to kiss each other before Soren groans and snatches at his spoon.

Opeli’s not usually one to encourage throwing food at the table, but she’s never been more grateful for the well aimed chunk of venison that Soren sends flying across the room. It hits Callum square in the nose and puts flecks of gravy on Rayla’s cheek, and it’s messy, yes, but it does the job. They spring apart looking disgusted, and Opeli has to physically keep the sigh of relief from slipping past her lips.

“Get a _room_ ,” whines Soren. “The rest of us are trying to eat, and there are _children_ present.”

“I’m not _that_ young,” grumbles Ez, “but yeah, guys, please.”

They, at least, have the decency to blush about it, but Rayla waves them off. “Come off it,” she says. “We’re not being _that_ gross.”

Opeli steps in here, hoping she sounds stern, but still kind of respectful? She’s never had to deal with this before. Parenting royalty is still kind of new. “With all due respect, Your Highness, My Lady—” (Rayla scowls at the title)— “That behaviour is not appropriate at the table. It may be best to save it for if you intend to marry.”

It must have come up before, _surely_ , but it does the trick. They’ve only been courting each other for about a month and it’s far too soon (and they're far too _young_ ) to consider marriage. They inch apart.

It’s considerably easier to eat dinner after that.

  
  


The second time she has to say something, they’re making out in the stairwell by the tower bridge. It's otherwise empty today but it's still not the most remote location, especially considering the tower bridge is _right there_ and anyone could find them on their way into the main keep. Honestly, Opeli never thought she'd see the day Prince Callum, of all people, would forget his status and the need for propriety, but here he is, very publicly glued to his _elven_ girlfriend in broad daylight, entirely unconcerned about who might walk past.

Her first instinct is to turn away, but it’s too late. The image of Callum with Rayla against the wall, his hands on her waist, hers in his hair, is burned into her mind, and it’s not one she’s likely to forget anytime soon.

Her next instinct is to say something. _Anything._ But the words get lost on their way from her brain to her mouth, so for a solid ten seconds or so, Opeli can’t remember how to do anything but _not_ stare. 

She takes a breath. Takes a moment to steel herself. Turns to face them once more.

“ _Ahem._ ”

They part with a wet sounding _pop_ , red faced and breathless and unable to look her in the eye. Rayla, for her part, looks like she wants to disappear into the wall behind her, but Callum sputters, hands raised in a poor attempt to explain. 

“Opeli!” he manages hoarsely. “We— um— this isn't— how— how long have you been standing there, exactly?”

“Long enough.” Opeli presses her lips into an unimpressed line. “If I may, Prince Callum—”

If Callum’s face went any redder, he might match the banners of the uneven towers hanging over the stones behind him. “Nope,” he says. “Um. Nah. All good. You don’t have to say a thing. It— uh— won’t happen again.” He seizes Rayla’s hand and tugs her past without another word.

Opeli squeezes her eyes shut, an all-too-familiar ache building in her temples. “I should hope not.”

  
  


The third time she has to say something, it’s because she catches Callum sneaking out of Rayla’s room just after dawn. 

He blanches when he sees her. His hair is mussed, his jacket is missing, his eyes are still crusty with sleep— honestly, Opeli doesn’t know that she even wants an explanation because there can only be _one_ reason he’s sneaking out of his girlfriend’s bedroom at this hour and it's not even a little appropriate for someone of his standing.

“Your Highness,” she tries. She's been patient with them in the past, but this is too much. The line has been crossed. This can't go ignored any longer.

“It's not how it looks,” says Callum quickly. “We weren't— things aren't— things aren't like _that_.”

Opeli draws a breath. It’s not that she thinks he’s lying. It’s that she thinks he and Rayla are teenagers and there's a lot of new feelings there that she's sure they want to explore. It'd be perfectly acceptable if they were anyone else, probably, but Callum's _not_ anyone else. He's a _prince_ and there are _standards_ he has to adhere to and— 

“She has nightmares,” blurts Callum. “They can get really bad and sometimes— sometimes she just sleeps better with someone else in the room. It's just— we got so used to sleeping in close quarters and now— nothing else happened, Opeli, I _swear—_ ”

Opeli catches herself before she can berate him. It’s not the explanation she expected. She hadn't realized. She hadn't known. “Nightmares?”

“Um. Yeah.” Callum shifts and stares guiltily at the floor. “Viren… said something to her that day at the Storm Spire. She thinks he might be the reason her parents disappeared and she— she has dreams about it. That's all. I promise you we didn't do anything but— look, it won't happen again—”

Opeli holds up a hand, and Callum cuts himself off, eyes downcast and accepting of whatever lecture she might have for him, only...

She doesn't have one. What is there to say? They're just kids. They're too young for this kind of trauma, and if this is how they work through it, then…

Her lips twitch. She sighs. “Your Highness,” she begins, resigned. “Would a second bed in Her Ladyship's quarters help?”

“I— wait, what?” Callum stares at her. “Seriously?”

“Seriously," says Opeli with a smile. “Would it help?”

“I mean— yeah. It'd help a lot. I just— I thought we'd be in trouble or something.”

In all fairness, they _were_ , but Opeli shakes her head. They _are_ sweet together, she remembers, and while the arrangement is… highly _irregular…_ she can understand that they've been through enough. There aren't a lot of teenagers who can say they ended a war together, and there are even fewer who can say they love each other as wholly as Callum and Rayla do. “Not today, Your Highness,” she says at last. “I would, however, recommend looking more put together next time. Other people might get the wrong idea.”

Callum lets out a weak laugh, but it's relieved and grateful all the same. “Yeah,” he says. “We'd hate to give them that.”

  
  
  


_iii_

When Opeli hears of it, it sounds like a joke. Or, rather, she hopes it’s one. As captain of the Crownguard, Soren spends most of his time tailing Ezran (if Corvus isn’t doing it himself), but during his off time, it’s not uncommon to find him sparring with Rayla in the courtyard. They get along far better than Opeli ever thought they would— they have a lot in common, she supposes, and it gives them both the chance to blow off some steam and keep their skills sharp at the same time. It’s a common enough occurence that she _almost_ doesn’t look up from her paperwork when she crosses the courtyard that day—

But then she hears what they’re talking about.

“Your birthday’s only two weeks after Callum’s?”

Rayla flicks one of her blades into its hook form, wary of the way Soren studies her posture. Opeli’s never paid that much attention to their spars, but from what she’s seen, Rayla’s right to be on her guard. She’s faster than him by a long shot, but what Soren lacks in speed, he makes up for in strength. “So what if it is?”

Soren relaxes his stance, just a little. “We should do something. Have, like, a joint birthday thing.”

Rayla stares at him. “Since when are you a party planner?”

“Since just now.” Soren lowers his sword entirely and offers her a cocky grin. “Why not? Nothing big. Just, you know, us four, some snacks, I can get you and Callum your first drinks after Ez goes to bed. It could be fun.”

Opeli stops then, because she could have sworn she heard the words _drinks_ followed by _after Ez goes to bed_ , which, in combination, can only mean drinks of the _alcoholic_ kind which she's not sure even _Soren's_ of age to obtain. She glances up sternly, but Rayla gets there first. 

“Are _you_ even allowed drinks? Because Callum and I definitely aren't— at least not in _this_ city.”

“Details,” snorts Soren, waving a hand at her. “Pretty sure it’s fine as long as you're supervised by someone of age, which I am. Close enough, anyway." 

Rayla smirks, flicking her blade in and out of its hilt with deft hands. “Yeah, I’m not sure you’re gonna fool anyone. Besides.” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but Opeli catches the way she jerks her head slightly (at her), and the way she presses her lips into a thin, cautious line.

Soren follows her gaze. When _he_ spots Opeli, he lets out a nervous sounding squawk that he turns into a laugh, and looks away again too quickly. "I'm _kidding_ ," he says (sputters). It’s very pointedly _not_ aimed at Rayla. "Where would I even _get_ alcohol? But we should definitely do something. Something fun. And _sober_." When he grins this time, it's the fakest, guiltiest grin Opeli's ever seen in her life, but he takes advantage of Rayla's lowered guard then, and Opeli doesn't get the chance to investigate further before there are blades singing through the air once more.

She narrows her eyes. _Kidding_ , Soren’d said. 

He'd better have been.

  
  


Technically, Soren’s right. He, Callum, and Rayla _are_ underage, but the law doesn’t actually say that they’re not allowed to _drink_ alcohol. They’re just not allowed to _buy_ it. It’s an egregious oversight, if you ask Opeli, and, in any case, Soren was only _talking about it_ , and _talking about it_ isn’t the same as actually _doing_ it. 

She can’t put a stop to something if there’s no evidence of it _being done_ to begin with. Soren might not be the sharpest sword in the armoury, but he’s not an idiot, and he’s certainly not stupid enough to let himself be caught talking about it twice. Opeli hears nothing more of it for a week, which she supposes should make her feel better, only it doesn’t because Callum’s birthday is fast approaching and she doesn’t trust Soren enough to truly believe he won’t do it.

She brings it up with Corvus the following weekend when she finds him and Ezran hanging around in the castle stables. 

“I haven’t heard anything,” he says, helping Ez brush the knots out of a splotchy filly’s mane. “I wasn’t even aware it was Prince Callum’s birthday so soon.”

“What’s there to hear about?” pipes Ezran. “Rayla’s birthday is on the thirty-first as well, so we were just gonna have a little dinner thing so they can celebrate at the same time. We haven’t really planned it properly yet? I was gonna ask Barius to have a go at making Moonberry Surprise for Rayla. You can both come too, if you like.”

Opeli pauses, because if Ezran’s inviting _her_ , maybe it _is_ entirely innocent, and she’s being a little unfair. Then again, maybe Ez just doesn’t _know_ . She weighs her options carefully, because on the one hand, joining them would guarantee the lack of anything untoward, but on the other… there’s a difference between supervising and intruding, and while she _does_ want to supervise, she doesn’t want to take away from Callum and Rayla’s enjoyment of their birthdays, either. 

“Thank you for the invite, Your Majesty,” she says at last (Ez wrinkles his nose at the way she says _Your Majesty_ , and she smiles apologetically. Old habits). “But I’ll have to think about it. You’re sure Soren doesn’t have anything… _else_ planned?”

“No?” says Ezran. “I dunno what else you’re expecting. It’s just dinner.”

“It _is_ strange that _he’s_ the one planning it,” Corvus points out. “I didn’t peg him as the type to plan parties.”

Ezran shrugs. “I didn’t really expect it either. Soren was always kinda mean to Callum before all the stuff with Zym happened. I guess he just wants to make up for it.”

There are other things, Opeli knows. She can see it in the way Ez purses his lips and goes back to hand feeding the filly, but she has a feeling they’re not his issues to air. Soren’s relationship with the boys isn’t strained per se, but there are nuances there that she’s made assumptions about but isn’t privy to. Ezran says nothing more on the matter.

She doesn’t ask.

  
  


Callum’s actual birthday is spent pretty quietly. He’s not one for big parties to begin with, but when he was younger, King Harrow and Queen Sarai used to have feasts in his honour. Being a step-prince must have been strange and lonely _then_ , even if they threw him a celebration the whole castle was invited to. King Harrow, especially, went out of his way to make him feel welcome, but at one point or another, Callum would eventually find somewhere less crowded with his sketchbook pressed to his chest to complete the one birthday tradition he made sure never to forget: his yearly family portrait.

Sarai had shown Opeli one year. They were little more than crayon stick figures then, but Sarai’d loved it all the same. After she died, King Harrow made sure to keep up the tradition of throwing a castle party for Callum’s birthdays, but it wasn’t the same then, and it’s doubly so now. Breakfast is a bit bigger than usual, and there’s a feast for lunch, full of Callum’s favourite dishes and summer fruit— the castle staff are invited, as always— but Harrow’s absence (and Sarai’s too, even after all this time) is glaringly obvious, and Opeli doesn’t need to see the hint of melancholy in Callum’s eyes to know that he misses them.

She finds him in the gardens later, forsaking even Rayla’s company to finish his family portrait. His smile is sad, but it’s a smile all the same, and when he spots her, he snaps his sketchbook closed and gets to his feet.

“Opeli,” he greets. She pretends he doesn’t see him sniffle. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Your Highness,” Opeli says. “You disappeared.”

Callum chuckles. “Ah, yeah. It’s too loud in there. Soren’s got a little thing planned for this weekend anyway. Not that— not that this isn’t fun, it’s just—”

“No need to explain, Your Highness, I understand.” Opeli offers him a fond smile, but she pauses and purses her lips. “About this… _thing_ Soren’s planning…”

“Oh, yeah.” Callum brightens considerably. “It’s Rayla’s first birthday away from home as well. She’s… well. That’s a whole other jar of worms. I thought it was kinda weird that Soren wanted to plan it for us, but now that I think of it, it kinda makes sense. He’s like us, in a lot of ways.”

Opeli cocks her head at him. “How so?”

Callum pauses. Then he takes a breath. “His family’s gone now too. Me, and Ez, and Rayla… and now him. We’re all each other has now. I think he just thought it’d be nice.” Then he grins. “You and Corvus should come. It’ll be fun.”

“Hm.” Opeli’s lips twitch. “Maybe,” she says. We’ll see.”

  
  


The following weekend, Opeli heads down to the kitchens shortly after it feels like everyone else has gone to bed to find the lamps lit and to hear hushed voices echoing off the stones. She’d missed dinner because she had other matters to attend, and she knows Corvus escorted Ezran to bed, so there’s only three other people it could be, and from the way things sound, they haven’t quite broken into their mead yet.

“Look,” she hears Callum say. “I know we’ve been talking about this for a couple of weeks, but uh… are you _sure_ this is a good idea?”

“It’ll be _fine_ ,” says Soren. Opeli pictures him waving him off. “You’re under adult supervision—”

“ _You’re_ not of age either, dingus,” says Rayla.

“ _And_ you only turn sixteen once.”

“I’m _fifteen_ ,” corrects Callum dryly. “ _Rayla’s_ turning sixteen.”

“Wait, _you’re_ older? Isn’t that— never mind. It’s fine to have a little on a full stomach. Trust me. I know.”

Rayla snorts. “Yeah, that’s not helping your case.” 

There’s a pause. Opeli hears Soren huff. “You’re not drinking to get _drunk_ ,” he says. “We’re having… a toast. To you two. And your birthdays. And…” He hesitates. Then he takes a breath, and there’s the scrape of a goblet being lifted off wood. “You guys are my best friends and you and Ez are kind of all I have left now so…”

One more pause. Then there are two more scrapes, and Opeli takes the opportunity to round the corner.

Soren flushes. 

Rayla sets her goblet down again with a thunk.

Callum almost drops his.

“Opeli! Uh. This isn’t what it looks like. Um. We’re—”

For all her austerity and traditionalism, Opeli quirks her lips at all three of them and settles at the end of the table. It’s late, and she can almost guarantee she’ll regret this, but at the end of the day, Soren’s a good kid, and this is a gesture that should be acknowledged. “You shouldn’t be drinking,” she says.

“Um. We— we weren’t—”

Opeli holds up a hand. “Without supervision from an _actual_ adult,” she finishes, resigned. She’d come down here this evening because she’d _known_ they’d be doing this and she’d had every intention of stopping them but… what the hell? She’s not heartless. She’s known people with less trauma than they’ve been through that behave far less maturely. 

They stare at her, obviously confused, but she only shrugs and pours herself a half glass of mead. “You were going to do it anyway,” she says. “At least this way, I can keep an eye on all three of you. You can share the bottle. _Just_ the bottle. No more. But.” She sighs and raises her glass. “Happy birthday, Your Highness. And to you, My Lady.”

Rayla scowls at the use of the title, but Soren’s relief and enthusiasm override her indignance. 

“To you guys!” he says happily. 

Callum and Rayla hesitate, just for a moment, their drinks halfway raised. Then they glance at each other and chuckle.

"To friends," says Rayla.

“To _family_ ,” corrects Callum, grinning at them.

They clink their goblets and Opeli hids a smile behind the lip of hers. To family, indeed.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_iv again_

“Opeli.” Ezran’s voice is barely a whisper but it echoes through the council chamber anyway, and inwardly, she wonders if this is the start of another shenanigan designed to remind her that she _can’t_ say no to these kids, no matter how much she thinks she wants to. They’re a handful, yes, and they don’t do things— they don’t do _anything_ — the way they’re supposed to, but then if they did, she supposes, perhaps they’d still be fighting a centuries old war.

She takes a breath and puts on a smile, tired but genuine, and when she looks up, she’s greeted by Ezran and Callum and Rayla and Soren, packed and ready for their trip to the Moon Nexus with a tray of tea and jelly tarts between them. 

“We’re about to go,” says Ez. “But you looked kinda tired so we thought we’d get you some tea before we left.”

Soren nods. “It’s not that Hot Brown Morning Potion stuff that Claudia used to make, but this stuff comes pretty close.”

“Xadian specialty,” Rayla adds. “And dark magic free, to boot. I don't know exactly what Claudia was using but you have coffea plants here. In Xadia, we brew the leaves for a pick-me-up.”

“We’ll let you enjoy your morning now,” says Calllum. “See you in a couple of weeks!”

They wave themselves out of the council chambers, all smiles and bright eyes, and Opeli blinks after them, a little stunned but a _lot_ flattered by the gesture. She chuckles to herself.

They’re unorthodox for sure, but the kids are alright in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> This took SO LONG, i'm so glad it's done. Sorry for my long-ass absence to anyone who noticed. Real life's been a bit hectic lately but it's heckin' good to be back!
> 
> EDIT: the wonderful Tumblr user @imminent-danger-came drew an amazing little piece to go with this fic!! You can find it [here](https://imminent-danger-came.tumblr.com/post/621933695159484416/the-kids-are-alright)!


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